


I Wanna Buy You With Daddy's Money

by editingatwork



Series: Beautiful, Dirty, Rich [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: AU, M/M, rich kid kent parson, that's literally all it is i don't know what else to tell you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 00:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8306296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/editingatwork/pseuds/editingatwork
Summary: Kent tries to impress a boy using sweet talk and money. It doesn't go like he plans.





	

 

Kent sees the guy in the window of the shop as he’s walking by. He trips over his own feet and has to catch his balance before he can backtrack to get a look at that ass again.

“Kenny, are you okay?” Jack is wide-eyed and worried. He follows Kent’s gaze. “A tailor's?”

Kent’s already making tracks for the front door. His 17th birthday was two days ago. His parents have been divorced for a year and are fighting over him with their bank accounts. Kent’s got a new car, a new phone, and a new limit on his Amex Platinum card--the one connected to his mom’s black Amex Centurion. It’s sat in his wallet since he got it.

He’s just seen something he wants to buy.

The bell over the door dings as he enters. It’s a really stuffy, understated ding, like the bell is ashamed of itself for making any noise. The place smells faintly of the cologne his father wears to private investor gatherings and fabric too nice to be touched with bare hands.

“Can I help you sir?” asks a store clerk.

“Maybe. I’m looking to buy a gift for myself.” Kent eyes the displays in the room like he’s mentally window shopping, but it’s bullshit. He already knows what he wants.

Behind Kent, Jack has caught up and followed him in. He grabs Kent’s elbow. “You’re gonna buy a suit? Why do you need a suit? You live in jeans and flannel.”

Kent turns to him and grins. “Watch me work,” he whispers, and walks across the room towards a client in the middle of a fitting. Vaguely he hears Zimms apologizing to the store clerk, but he’s not paying any attention, because he’s looking at a boy his age with a physique so fine it should be criminal.

He stands in front of the boy, who is on a low pedestal to make the tailor’s work easier but has to be easily six feet. He’s got legs for miles and a body like a lumberjack, and even if he’s still a bit of an awkward and gangly teen, it’s clear that once he fills out his massive frame, he’s gonna be 110% muscle and power.

Kent wants to  _eat him_.

“How much?” he asks. “For the suit?”

The boy blinks. “Is not for sale.”

Oh, and an  _accent_. Is that Russian? Nobody told him Russians could be brown-haired and burly. Kent might die. But first he’s going to score. He puts on his best winning smile and says, “I wasn’t asking for  _me_ , handsome. I was asking for you. How much? I wanna buy it for you.”

The tailor pauses his work and gives Kent the look that all adults give him before he pulls out a card and starts charging. Kent doesn’t give a shit, though, because the boy’s eyes are twinkling and the barest hint of a smile is tugging at his (luscious) mouth. “You want buy. For me. Why?”

“Because honey, you are stacked,” Kent replies. “And that suit looks too good on you not to let me buy it for you.”

Across the shop, Jack slaps his palm over his face. The clerk beside him looks somewhere between impressed and scandalized.

The tailor is definitely flat-out scandalized. “Sir,” he says. “I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Kent smirks. “You think I’m all talk and no bank.” He reaches for his wallet and slides out the Amex, twirling it between his fingers and putting his gaze back on young Mr. Gorgeous. “Sky’s the limit. You want a tie with it? You want shoes? Pocket square? Name it.”

The boy’s smile is growing. He puts his arms down. “Is a lot of money.”

“I’m  _really_ loaded.”

That draws a laugh. “And have balls.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. So? How ‘bout it? Say the word, baby, I’ll clean this little two-bit shop of every last cuff link and bowtie and pack it all away for you.”

Kent is not imagining the full-body examination he gets in response. He’s standing in front of an Adonis but he’s not worried about measuring up. Both his parents have pools and his mom upgraded her weight room when he dropped hints that he had  _much_  more room at Dad’s. Kent’s got three personal trainers for his floor work and his family can afford to rent out a private rink twice a week for one-on-one hockey coaching with a retired NHL megastar.

Kent sees warmth in the boy’s eyes and knows that he likes what he sees. The boy plays it cool, though, which just makes Kent like him more. “If I’m let you spoil me,” he begins, and Kent thinks,  _Yeah, let me spoil you_ , “What I’m give you in return?”

Kent puts a hand--the one with the Amex--over his heart. “Only the joy of knowing a beautiful man is wearing the clothes he deserves.” He waits a beat. “And maybe your name.”

“Ah. Well.” The boy points past Kent. “You not see it, when you come in? Is on window.”

Kent... looks back over his shoulder. He feels like there’s a shoe dropping, here, but he doesn’t know what it is. All he sees is modest gold lettering across the window, spelling out the shop’s name.

“Mashkov Tailors,” the boy says. “Bespoke, made-to-measure, and ready-to-wear. Alexander Mashkov is my father,” he explains when Kent turns back to look at him. He’s wearing the most understated shit-eating grin. “I am Alexei.”

Through the ringing in Kent’s ears, he can hear Zimms trying to muffle his laughter and failing fucking miserably.

“You can buy suit for me,” Alexei says. “But, is my father’s little two-bit shop, so... I’m already own.”

“Oh,” Kent says. The Amex is still in his fingers. He stuffs it in his back pocket. His face, neck, and ears feel like they’re slowly catching on fire. “I’m gonna... just... go.”

Kent flees.

\--

The next day, an overnight package arrives for him. It’s his Amex, which he’d dropped in the store and not noticed until he was halfway across town with Zimms stumbling along and  _still_  laughing, goddamn him. Kent had been too chicken to go back for the card.

Now he’s holding his Amex, along with a black, gold-edged Thank You card bearing the tailoring shop’s logo. Inside is a note:

_I think I want find out how you will spoil me._

_Call me. (Unless you are all talk and no balls?)_

A phone number follows.

Kent snaps the card shut and gives Zimms a shove, because he’s been looking over Kent’s shoulder and is laughing again.

“Not a fucking word, Zimms, not a fucking word!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> join me in rarepair hell on[ tumblr](http://punmasterkentparson.tumblr.com/).


End file.
